If u're looking for rational thought, this may not be the place for u. Am a rambler and I ramble at will, with no apologies. You will encounter non linear indulgences, emotional outbursts and personal extravagances.
But, be my guest.
I may become the reason u have fun with urself.
A wannabe movie maker, an adhoc writer, a self proclaimed poetess, an experimental cook and a near obsessive passion player....rock with me

Friday, June 20, 2008

I can see the sky from where I sit. And, its absolutely black right now. I love the storms. I just get to experience very few of them.

I remember when I was young I used to see more of them in Patna. Within minutes of a storm nearing, I would be out in my white slip dancing along the chatth…terrace, for the ones ignorant of the romance of the 80s. It used to be beautiful…the notion of challenging something was unknown then…so concepts like challenging urself by standing chest thrust in the storm did not figure. The joy of just feeling the wind whipping my hair…of the first raindrops on my face…just being able to laugh without inhibition…unparalleled.

And then I grew a little older and stopped experiencing storms altogether. In England u didn’t have storms, u just had ice. And, for 7 long years I have no memories of ever facing a storm.

I came back to India and after a few years so did my parents. One day as a storm hit I saw my father open his mouth as if he wanted to bite into it. I was fascinated. My dad taught me the art of eating a storm….my mom is fond of rain but she doesn’t particularly enjoy a dust storm. So as she went into a maniacal hurry to close all doors and windows as soon as she saw some inkling of a storm approaching, my dad and I used to post ourselves outside waiting for the first wave to hit and then savour it on our tongue. She used to keep yelling at us…u’ll get worms and we used to look at her with such disdain, as if she was the mad one. Haha…the biggest dad-daughter bonding vibe I ever felt came from these almost magical sessions.

As I got married, I also realized that M hated storms. No he was not tolerant of them. He hated them because for him it meant dust in the house, in every pore of the house. For years I would act like my mom, running around closing all doors and windows. And then I would be myself, perching myself at the edge of the balcony of the house till the storm lasted. I think M lived with my fascination as I lived with his obsession. And, we still do. J

The storms still call me. I can see one now, right out of the window of my workplace. My colleagues think I’m crazy because the dust doesn’t bother me. I’m worried a little because I forgot to put the clothes drying in the sun of the morning inside. So another one of those future planning failure discussions, I guess.

I used to be able to enjoy a storm earlier without chasing it.

I still love the abandon of a storm…..the sheer feeling of every pore of ur body singing to a tune only u can hear…..the indulgence of eating dust and washing it down with the first few drops the sky grants you…